I have spent years avoiding writing down my thoughts for fear of what will be written. For years, I have cheated myself out of the existence I want. It’s like sand; days turn to months, and it’s now one year since Paris.
He walks through the door; I overflow. My pulse races, I am all smiles. I feel completely crazy; just hours ago I was awaiting THE ‘Hour Of My Death.’
The dreaded departure to Milan; Today. The nerves jump from Italy, is there no grey? Why is it always black and white in my life? (Do) I do it myself?
Never really realized how my printing changes every time I stop/start writing.... I think too much (or not at all). I feel EVERYTHING between these pages should be Epic, Legendary.
[had to set pen down feeling too agitated]
we’ll title this: Random Thoughts On The Metro
I stare at people and they stare back. A pair of eyes, most a dead look somewhere near a middle. I have been stranded on these moving cars for the past 9 months, countless hours. Seen thousands of different faces (yet I know no one). The young guy beside me smells awful, he’s fanning his stench with a tourist’s guide to Paris.
Waiting for next car—too many people. No place to sit and write...
[AND she scores a seat. babble babble babble]
I hear the sounds but am unable to understand what it is they are saying. Oh how one can miss eavesdropping...
One of the many things I took for granted before moving to Paris (9 months).
Sitting alone in a beautiful cafe.
My mind wanders to the bedroom. Take a good book in case the xmas anxiety wins the battle. BUT FIGHT HARD!
Resorting to dissolving french aspirin. Yes my head actually hurts that much. Was distracted from the headache and writing by the glass of pop I just accidentally smashed on the hard wood floor! [NEVER FAIL backwards]
Almost midnight, hoping I won’t sleep all day tomorrow. Rainy Sunday in Paris.
One day, one night trip to Barcelona, shooting for _______ and off on an adventure.
Sitting at the boarding gate at Dubai International airport. Feeling as low as can be, wanting to scribble pages of blue ink but force myself to produce letters instead. It was an eye opening, unique, fun filled first trip to the middle east but today I am empty and ready to return to Paris.
My run in with the police last night was the end of the rope. So scared... being searched and interrogated in Arabic. Being mistaken for a (high class, I hope) prostitute with a married man in a muslim country. I could have easily been taken straight to prison. An eye opening experience to say the least.
lunch, drinks, driving, 360, +44, work, talk, work, talk
Business and priority are now boarding 075 to Paris. Time to get ready for the 8 hours back to the special boy waiting for me—goodbye Dubai.
The best thing about getting lost is what you find along the way.
First entry of 2010. Standing in the metro at Republique, waiting for the metro (5 mins and counting).
Drinks with K apres?
Total drunk now (!!!), 4 beers later I’m on my way home. The train has arrived, just 6 stops and a 5 minute walk and I’m in the warmth, I’m Home.
9 days til Milan...
I will NOT fuck this up I will NOT fuck this up I WILL NOT FUCK THIS UP
I repeat this to myself in the darkness, in fear, before falling asleep. Almost every night now. SO afraid of the city (Milan) I’m about to leave for, and how it once upon a time ago royally fucked up my life. But everything happens for a reason, right?
Anyway, Here and Now is where I am, and there’s nothing I would change.
(I looked up as the train approaches the station and really how freaking drunk I am!)
So CHEERS to 2010 and to the most random threesome I have ever had, my baby’s lips on the body of another... so amazing to watch, dissolves everything away to pure NOW ness.
Gare D’Australitz, I am home!
Into arms, I fall, home.